Patient ID: 18

Name: דיבוק

Sex: N/A

Case File: Lisa

Notes: The following has been transcribed from Hebrew to English by Reese Parker.

Botgore: Why do it? 

דיבוק: Why wind blow? Why waves crash? It’s nature. 

Botgore: Are you saying you don’t have a choice? 

דיבוק: What choice I have? 

Botgore: The choice to choose. 

דיבוק: What else I should do? My father did and his before that. This is what we know. This is our nature. 

Botgore: Do you believe in free will? 

דיבוק: That’s a concept reserved for you humans. 

Botgore: You were human once, no? 

דיבוק: It’s not that simple.

Botgore: What do you mean? 

דיבוק: How much time we have? 

Botgore: As much as you need. 

 דיבוק: Sessions an hour, no? 

Botgore: Time doesn’t work like that here. 

דיבוק looks at the clock and notices the hands suddenly stop. Dr. Botgore looks at the clock then back at דיבוק. 

Botgore: We have as long as you need. Now, tell me, how do you decide who deserves it? 

דיבוק: “Deserves?” These human emotions, we no have the luxury of understanding Dr. Botrot

Botgore: Botgore. 

דיבוק: Botgore, apologies. 

Botgore: So who decides? 

דיבוק: Good question. 

Lisa

“Ouch!” Cried Lisa as she chewed through the final remaining layer of skin on her finger. Blood began to gather at the sight of the injury. 

Lisa’s eyes darted around the room hoping no one saw her chewing her finger raw. 

Lisa casually placed her fingers in her mouth to suck the blood In hopes to hide the evidence of her self-inflicted injury. 

“Can I get you a band-aid?” Asked the woman behind the desk. 

“That’s okay.” Said Lisa. Staring at the floor. “I have some napkins here.”

Lisa lifted a silver tray covered with Saran Wrap. The tray was loaded with freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. The steam from the cookies, still warm, created water droplets that raced down the side of the Saran Wrap before crashing to the edge of the tray. 

Ruth Ayer was a staple of this office as much as the creaky wooden chairs with the worn-out padding or the ficus in the corner that has been long forgotten about yet somehow still remains somewhat alive.

Lisa Schveltz on the outside appeared like your average twenty-year-old. Her fiery red hair shined a healthy glow in the dull neon office light. She stared at the floor with an intensity that could bore a hole through the thick layers of concrete foundation.

Ruth leaned over her desk to see what Lisa was transfixed on. Ruth Ayer was a frumpy woman. She wore moo moos to hide her girth like it was her little secret. She was always big, even as a little girl. She didn’t mind it much, except for the fact that people treated her differently, almost as if they were afraid of her. This always upset Ruth. She didn’t have a violent bone in her body, one time she hit a raccoon and cried for a week. She carried guilt with her everywhere and had a deep-rooted feeling that she needed to redeem herself, atone for her sins. What she needed redemption from, even Ruth did not know. She felt being a servant to those suffering more than her would be a way to atone. Twenty years ago Ruth took a job in a psychologist’s office and never looked back. In her mind, if she could be involved in people’s healing even if it was only setting up their appointments, that was enough to know she’s doing good in the world.

Dr. Theodore Greyson was a well-mannered soft-spoken gentleman. Coming to America from England at the ripe age of 21 to study psychoanalysis, Dr. Greyson knew no one in this strange new world he would call home, and that frightened him. 

During his school years, every day after class Theodore would walk down the block to Center Street where “Peters Pop Shop” sat on the corner. Peters Pop Shop was a relic of the city. During the great depression, many people lost their homes and businesses but Peters remained. During the Vietnam war, many young men lost their lives but Peters remained open for those who would come back.

The owner of the store Peter Schleth was a polish immigrant who grew up with nothing. Working at eight years old Peter never had much of a childhood. When he was in his twenties Peter found a job with the local tailor Aleksy Kowalski. After finding several redundancies in the business he offered to help streamline the process. Within six months the tailor shop tripled in customers and had to open a second store just to keep up with the demand. Aleksy Kowalski having no children and grateful for Peters’s help left everything he owned to Peter when he passed.

Peter, now a young thirty-year-old with two successful businesses and no family, needed a change. Tailoring made money but people weren’t necessarily happy to see a tailor. Peter wanted to own a store people were happy to come into. Peter sold both his stores to a wealthy Texan who just wanted the property for a cool million. That’s a lot of money now but at the time that was more than anyone knew what to do with, except Peter, of course. Peter opened a soda shop that serves Ice cream, soda, and floats. After the success of his store, Peter decided to expand and open a convenience store with the remaining space of his building.

Theodore sat alone on the squeaky cracked red faux leather chair with a chocolate and rootbeer float as his only ally. Theodore would never forget the feeling of loneliness at that barstool. Many of his classmates struggled with the courseload but not Theodore, the studying was easy, it was the social aspects of school that Theodore was failing.

Theodore could recite every mechanism that caused behaviors from violent outbursts to altruistic tendencies to the point of self-destruction. Theodore knew why he was anti-social but understanding anti-social behavior helps you socialize as much as being a heart surgeon prevents a heart attack. One may understand the mechanics but you’re human first and a doctor second.

For the remainder of his time in college, Theodore kept to himself all while the little voice in his head screamed for the touch of another human. Theodore made a promise to himself to treat those the world gave up on, to help those who can’t help themselves so no one has to suffer the mental anguish he had to endure for those seven long years.

It was a busy day at the office. Theodore was deep into a white paper about the influence epigenetics had on the development of families that were descendants of people who lived through war-related trauma.

Theodore specifically felt that there was a connection between Ashkenazi Jews, their experience in the holocaust, and their descendants scoring high in neuroticism. 

Descendants from the holocaust survivors were 83% more likely to develop anxiety, OCD, and depression compared to their Israeli counterparts.

Theodore had a theory that the trauma was so ingrained that it encoded itself into their DNA causing descendants to show signs of anxiety as early as the age of two. The coup de grace of this theory was that many of the factors related to anxiety were not present to become a catalyst for an anxious mindset. “A two-year-old” Peter would think to himself. “Is still too young to recognize most triggers that lead to a lifetime of anxiety.” 

———————

Lisa was Theodore’s toughest case. Lisa came from a wealthy family who supported her emotionally. Lisa’s family tried every experimental medication coupled with years of therapy with nothing to show for it. Lisa has seen some of the best psychologists in the country and eventually, one by one they give up on her claiming “I’m not experienced enough in her condition therefore, I cannot provide care fit for her medical needs.” 

In layman’s terms: “I don’t know why she’s fucked up.”

Theodore didn’t know exactly how he could help Lisa but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying. Theodore sat in his office well aware he was running late. He needed to mentally prepare for today’s session. In boxing terms, Lisa was the equivalent to the undisputed heavyweight champion.

Suddenly, Theodore noticed the smell of baked goods permeating into his office. This was unusual as working in a medical building the only smell you can expect is ammonia-based chemical sterilizers. 

The large cherrywood door swung open somewhat haphazardly. Not entirely Theodore’s fault. Theodore chuckled awkwardly and looked at Ruth. “Ruth, can we call Roger again? He said he’d fix this door weeks ago.” Ruth nodded to acknowledge him, at least, as much as someone can acknowledge being neck-deep in a steamy romance novel. 

Theodore knew he could hire someone much younger and more full of life but Ruth had a special charm.

Theodore scanned the room to find the source of that delicious bakery smell. 

“Lisa!” Theodore exclaimed.

Lisa jumped up as if she was called to attention, cookies in hand.

 With childlike excitement, Theodore asked. “Did you bake cookies?”

She nodded.

Theodore smiled and waved her towards his direction.

“Come on in.” As Lisa made her way to the creaky cherrywood door she offered Ruth a cookie.

For the first time all day, Ruth was focused on something other than novels about romance and incest. Ruth eyed the cookies until she finally said in a motherly voice “I’ll pass dear. I really shouldn’t but they look lovely.”

Lisa nodded politely and walked into Theodore’s office.

Theodore sat in his large red fabric chair, a graduation gift to himself and a staple of the office as much as the dying plant in the corner or the blinds that have been bent letting cracks of sun in throughout the day. Theodore was ready to start the session. Instead of Lisa sitting across as she normally would, she removed a cookie from the saran wrap, gently placed it on a napkin careful not to break it, and handed it to Theodore. 

“Thank you!” Theodore said with child-like excitement. “Chocolate chip is my favorite! Reminds me of grandmum.”

Lisa wrapped the batch up in the saran wrap and placed them on the coffee table between them.

“Aren’t you going to have one?” asked Theodore.

“I get too nervous to eat before appointments.”

Theodore regretfully nodded.

Theodore bit into the cookie and crumbs broke free tumbling down his shirt onto the stained dusty medical building carpet. The sweetness and salt of the chewy cookie took Theodore back to his grandmother’s kitchen in Liverpool. The cookie melted in his mouth in a flavorful ecstasy. “If nothing else went right today, at least I have this momentary bliss.” He thought to himself.

Finally back to reality Theodore fixed himself in his chair to assume a professional posture and asked Lisa “So what made you decide to bake?”

Lisa broke eye contact staring at the ceiling to think for a moment.

“Well, you said I should channel my energy when I feel anxious, so I decided to bake. I guess I thought if I took my negative energy and made cookies I guess I could make people happy.”

Theodore took a moment to reflect on her words. Really, it also gave him time to steal one more cookie.

Theodore, feeling silly for grabbing another cookie tried to turn it into an opportunity by lifting the cookie high in the air and proclaiming “These are really good!”

Lisa giggled.

Theodore sat up straight and asked “Lisa, I want to ask you something and try to answer as honestly as you can. It’s okay if you need a minute to self-reflect.”

Lisa nodded nervously.

Theodore wiping crumbs from his face with a napkin. “You mentioned taking the negative emotion and putting it into baking. What does that mean to you?”

Theodore watched her body language as Lisa looked to the ceiling for answers.

The clock ticking filled the room. A subtle reminder of their limited time. 

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Not wanting to waste anymore time pontificating Theodore said “Let me reiterate. What made you want to bake?”

Lisa thought only for a moment.

“I got into a fight with my parents. They stormed out to cool off and I guess it gave me time to do those worksheets you gave me. You know the one with rate your emotion?”

Theodore nodded happily to see she was putting in the effort. “Please, continue.”

“Well, I guess there was a question about “what would be the ideal outcome instead of the current one?”

Theodore interrupted again. “It’s a thoughtful question, it forces you to acknowledge that other alternatives exist.” Theodore paused for a moment. 

“May I ask what you wrote?” 

“I wrote how wonderful it would be to stop the fighting. To love and support each other.”

Theodore nodded.

Lisa smiled then continued. “The next question was “What step could you take to make that a reality?”

“And that’s why you baked?” Asked Theodore.

Lisa nodded, a smile emerged on her face. A rare sight.

“I remember my mother saying “Baking is love made edible.” I guess I thought baking would be a way to end the dispute.”

Theodore was thrilled with this progress. Immersed in the conversation he moved to the edge of his chair. “How did your parents react when they came home?”

Lisa giggled at his excitement.

Theodore was thrilled to see this, Lisa was normally reserved and shy with emphasis on neuroticism. This was progress, progress that Theodore felt deserved another cookie.

“My mom came in asking what smelled so good. My dad said nothing. He ran over to the baking tray and grabbed a cookie, he burnt his hand and dropped it.” Lisa giggled at the thought.

“That’s wonderful,” Theodore said while quickly trying to finish chewing the cookie he shoved in his mouth while Lisa was talking.

Theodore’s demeanor changed as his tone became more serious. Theodore felt he was stepping out of Theodore and into Dr.Greyson.

“I’m sorry to open old wounds but Lisa, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask what the fight was about.”

Lisa squirmed in her seat. Her eyes met every object in the room that wasn’t Dr. Greyson in hopes he would take the hint and drop the question.

“Lisa,” Theodore said in a supportive tone. “There is no judgment. We are working together. Anything you say in this room will never leave. As a team, we will help you feel better but I need you to trust me enough to tell the truth.” 

Lisa’s eyes met his. She looked more scared than nervous. 

“Do you think that’s something we can do?” Asked Dr. Greyson.

Lisa hesitated then nodded. 

“Okay, I’ll ask again and take your time. I want you to be as honest as possible. Remember, I’m here to help you.”

Theodore looked at Lisa with his hands elevated above his head. She knew what this meant. They both took a deep breath in through the nose.

“Woooosh” came from both of them as they gently exhaled from their mouth. 

Both their shoulders dropped to a relaxed state. 

“Okay. Let’s try this again. What was the fight about?”

Lisa hesitated. There was trepidation in her voice. 

“I lied.” 

“Lied about what?” Asked Theodore

“He never left.” 

“Lisa, who are we talking about?”

“You know!”

Lisa’s demeanor changed. There was a coldness to the room, a stillness in time. Lisa shifted her body facing away from Theodore.

Theodore’s hand clasped between his knees he leaned forward. 

“Lisa, I need you to say it.”

Lisa hesitated. Again, there was trepidation in her voice as if saying it aloud would bring it into existence.

With a stern voice, Theodore asked “Lisa, who did you see?”

Lisa began to fidget. Her heart beating like a drum, her palms became clammy, pupils dilated, her breathing rapid.

Theodore felt he may have been too harsh. Noticing her anxious reaction he drew back.

In hopes to reset the mood in a calm comforting voice, Theodore asked “Lisa? How are you feeling at this moment?”

There was a moment of silence then suddenly a whisper.

“Scared.”

“Why do you feel scared?”

Lisa looked at Theodore with tears in her eyes. 

“He’s here.”

“Who’s here?” Asked Theodore knowing full well what she was referring to.

Lisa remained silent.

Theodore frustrated asked again. “Lisa! I need you!” Theodore stopped himself and took a deep breath.

“Lisa, who is here? I want you to say it!”

Lisa began pounding her head manically with her fists. 

Theodore shotuing “Lisa! Enough!”

Theodore leapt from his chair to grab Lisa’s wrists and restrain her. Lisa fought with Theodore with strength he never imagined a woman of her size could possess. 

Theodore gripped tightly at Lisa’s wrists to restrain her. Inches from Lisa’s face Theodore asked. “Who did you see!”

Lisa screamed manically. “The Dybbuk!” Tears ran down her beat red face.

Theodore took a deep breath to collect himself. In a reassuring voice, Theodore said “It’s okay. Breath with me.” Theodore lifted his hands and took a deep breath instructing Lisa to do the same.

Lisa ignored his instructions. 

“I lied to my parents! I lied to you! He makes me lie!”

“Lisa, that’s okay, we forgive you. We want to help.”

Suddenly Lisa punched Theodore in the mouth knocking him to the floor.

Theodore rubbed his head as his vision throbbed. Discombobulated Theodore tried his best to get up but dizziness kept him grounded.

Lisa stood over him.

Ruth was elbow deep in a steamy romance scene between a young stud breeder and his lofty horse-loving client. Just as things were starting to heat up she was interrupted by the sound of running towards her office.

Ruth stood up frustrated. “Where are the parents!” Ruth asked herself resentfully. She turned to yell at the children running in the hall but before she could, the source of the running met her at the desk.

She was greeted by two handsome young police officers of the Toronto Police Department. Both men were covered in an inch of thick sweat with beat red faces. The taller of the two was panting like a dog trapped in a hot summer car. Before Ruth could welcome them they cut her off.

“Where is Theodore Greyson!”

Ruth still trying to process the immediacy of the situation couldn’t speak, instead, she pointed to the large cherrywood door.

The officers ran over to the door knocking aggressively.

“Dr. Greyson! This is Michael Barkin of the Toronto Police Department. Do I have permission to enter?”

No response. The officer turned to Ruth. “We believe his life may be in danger, was he in there with anyone?” 

Ruth broke her silence. “Uh. Uh. Yes, with a client, but uh, She’s just a young girl.”

The color withdrew from the cop’s face. With guns drawn in hand the cops announced “Dr. Greyson, this is the Toronto Police. We are coming in. We ask that you and anyone else get on your knees with your hands in the air.”

They tried to open the door but the door was locked. The door was too thick to break through leaving the officers with only one option.

The smaller officer of the two looked back at Ruth and said “You may want to cover your ears.”

Ruth with both hands firmly placed on her ears slid beneath the desk.

The taller officer shot at the lock blowing a gaping hole through the door.” The sound of metal striking metal rang out as pieces of cherrywood flew through the air. 

The acrid and sour smell of sulfur and burning wood blinded the senses while tinnitus filled the room amongst the smoky haze.

When the smoke settled the officers pushed through the door. As the thick cherrywood door creaked a loud squeal filled the room. The officers gagged. The smell of decay and rigor mortis filled the air with rot. Every sense told the officers to run but they followed their training and continued in. 

Laying on the floor lifeless was Theodore, his skin was ghostly gray, cold to the touch. His muscles stiff lay frozen in time. Theodore’s hands covered in blood, his fingernails lifted from their bed. Claw marks ran up and down his throat that matched the shape of his nails. Signs of a dying man’s last chance to breathe before everything went black.

The officers followed protocol and called for emergency medical services but they both knew it was too late.

“AHHHHHH!!” Ruth howled. A wail that shattered the eardrums of the offices. Seeing Theodore’s body grey, lifeless laying on the floor like a discarded tissue was too much for Ruth to bear. The smell of rot filled her nose and that was it. She fainted.

When she awoke a young handsome man was standing over her. “Ma’am, I’m Eric, I’m a paramedic. You’re going to be okay. It looks like you fainted. How are you feeling?”

Ruth tried to sit up but the handsome paramedic tried to keep her laying down.

The office was now busy, busier than its ever been. The sound of walkie-talkies overlapping was all Ruth could hear. Police officers, homicide, forensics, and more continued to pile into the small office. A young officer began to unravel yellow police tape on every surface that would hold it. The bright flashes and clicks of cameras filled the door as the detectives collected evidence. An older woman with braided hair and a well-fitted charcoal suit entered the room.

“Ma’am if I can just ask you to stay laying down for now just while I finish taking your pressure.”

Ruth Nodded.

An officer shouted in Eric’s direction. “Is she awake?” 

Eric nodded and turned back to Ruth. “There are some detectives that want to speak to you.” Eric looked back at the officers visibly frustrated.

Ruth paid no mind to the paramedic. She was fixated on this woman. Ruth thought she was important. Unlike everyone else in the room, this woman wasn’t in uniform. Her big golden badge swung by her chest as she moved.

The woman approached an officer who was taking notes. The officer stricken with fear stood at attention.

“What we got?” The woman asked casually as if this was just another day at the office.

The officer nervously replied “It appears like poison. Too early to say but our medical examiners think it may have been something called “Amygdalin” 

Ruth tried to hear what they were saying but could only make out a few words.

The woman in the gray suit glanced over the officer’s shoulder and noticed Ruth. Their eyes met. The officer casually asked. “She see anything?”

The officer nervously replied, “No, when we arrived on the scene she seemed confused as to why we were here.” 

The woman glanced over at Ruth again. This made Ruth nervous. She didn’t know why, but Ruth felt the officer thought she had something to hide. Ruth’s heart began to race. She thought back to her stint reading Edgar Allen Poe. The tale of the beating heart beneath the floorboards felt all too real.

The woman looked away from Ruth and back at the officer who appeared more nervous than ever. Sweat ran down his forehead. “Get her statement.” the woman said in a stern tone and walked away.

In Timmons, a small town in Northern Canada “Call me” by Blondie plays on the radio of a modern kitchen decorated to replicate a kitchen of the 1980s. A young woman with fiery red hair and a thin yet youthful frame skirts around from the fridge to her counter gathering the necessary ingredients to make a sandwich. Fresh crisp lettuce, ripe juicy red tomatoes, freshly cut turkey breast, and a beautiful crunchy french bun to seal it all together. The woman looks at the mint green plastic clock sitting above the stove and notices the time. It’s 8:15. The woman begins to panic and quickly grabs a few inches of saran wrap and tightly wraps the sandwich in the plastic seal. She pours the remainder of her coffee from a “My family went to Las Vegas and all I got was this lousy mug” cup and pours the semi-warm coffee into a thermos. The woman rushes to the door with full hands, using her hips she’s able to push the door open and seal it shut. The woman runs to her car.

“Good morning Susan!” yelled a voice from next door. Gail Abigail. A retired teacher whose parents didn’t love her enough to give her a proper name. The woman in a rush said very little to Gail other than “Hi Gail, sorry, can’t chat, running late! You know how kids are.”

Gail laughed, louder than someone should laugh. “Okay then, you have yourself a great day sweetie. Good luck today!”

Susan nodded as she pulled out the driveway. Waving half-heartedly.

Susan drove for two blocks frantically until she realized she was sitting in complete silence. She turned on the radio and adjusted the channels. Static hissed out of the speakers in defiance until the signals landed on a channel that was barely intelligible. A voice played through the speakers in between interference of static and hissing. The voice of an older man could be heard. 

“And that’s it for the weather. Now back to Tommy Riven with the news.”

“It’s been two weeks”

The sound of static drowned out the voice. Susan adjusted the volume of the speaker in hopes she would be able to make out what was said.”

“Police are…..for Lisa….death of…..including Psychol….known for his work in gene….Police…

The hissing became worse the closer she got to the school. The voice, now barely audible.

“If..ou….ave…..tips…..Toron…..artment.” 

Susan smiled and shut off the radio. She pulled into the parking lot of a small red brick building that read “Timmons Elementary School.” It was the only school in 30 miles. The entire town and surrounding towns went here making it a hub for all the local kids. Susan loved this. Being a teacher, Susan knew the importance of ensuring the young minds of today are prepared for all the surprises life has to offer. Susan felt great pride in herself and her work. Games and surprises were fundamental to her teaching style. She felt if the children were excited to come to school, they would learn more, therefore, be more likely to succeed.

As Susan drove through the parking lot, she was flagged down by a frumpy woman in a three-piece suit. The woman had short buzzed brown hair and a double chin that rested on the cheap white silk shirt under her jacket. Susan noticed the woman and casually waved back as she drove closer to her. The woman in the suit directed Susan to a parking spot where she was standing. Using her hands in a motion similar to air traffic control she guided Susan into the spot. Susan pulled in and the woman ran up to her driver’s side window.

“Oh welcome! We’re so happy to have you!”

Susan smiled. She was excited for her first day but not nearly as enthusiastic as this woman. Susan began to speak but before she could talk she was cut off.

“This will be your reserved spot for the rest of the school year. Every year teachers fight for this spot. Winters can get pretty bad here and the less you need to drudge through snow, the better.” 

The woman giggled to herself. Susan felt this woman was more often than not the only one laughing at her jokes. 

“Because you’re new, we all decided your first year should be easy as possible. Goodness knows most teachers don’t last more than a year. People say it’s the kids but I think it’s the weather. Even as Canadians, we’re just not equipped for this intensity of cold, Y’know?”

Susan thought the woman must have had a lot of coffee this morning. She couldn’t get a word in between the incoherent ramblings of past teachers and snowbanks. 

Susan stepped out of the car only breaking eye contact with the woman to grab her big powder blue bag sitting in the back seat. “Oh, I love the colors!” The woman said as she pointed to the bag. 

“Y’know my sister-in-law knits. I could never get into it but…” This conversation continued as the woman guided her to the rusted red steel doors that guarded the schools entrance.

They walked down the cold hallways of the school met by finger paintings and paper mache displayed by the classes of the previous year. Susan tried to take it all in but was interrupted by more stories.

“We needed to install thick doors with freeze-resistant paint after some of the factuality got locked in here overnight. Last year we had a parent-teacher conference that went a little longer than usual. It got so cold the moisture in the air sealed the doors shut. The poor teachers and parents spent twelve hours here until the Fire Department was able to melt the hinges and remove the door from the frame.”

Susan didn’t care but did her best to replicate how someone would behave if they were shocked.

“And the Oscar goes to!” Susan thought to herself. Chuckling behind the faux smile.

They finally reached a blue door. The door looked old, the paint was chipped and revealed a much less friendly prison-style grey color that was a gentle reminder school to kids was prison for eight hours a day.

“Now, this is a great batch of kids. They can be a little rambunctious

 but they mean well. They’ve had a string of substitutes until we were finally able to find you. It will be good for them to see the same person every day.”

Susan nodded in agreement. “Finally, she said something meaningful.” Susan thought to herself.

“Be patient with them. They tend to try to push the boundaries with new teachers. I find if you can win them over early, you have them eating in the palm of your hand for the rest of the year.”

Susan smiled. “I’ll try my best.”

The blue door swung open revealing a jungle of a classroom. Children no older than seven were enjoying the freedom a classroom has to offer without a teacher present. As soon as the principal walked through the door they all ran to their seats.

“Very good!” She said aloud. “How is everyone today?”

“Good!” came out in a universal tone. Then the whole class broke out in laughter.

Susan scanned the room making sure to look at each child’s face. Susan felt it was important to know each child individually. It allows you to connect with them on a much deeper level. She learned this from her many conversations with Dr. Greyson.

The woman in the suit spoke up again. “Now class, today we have a very special surprise.” The woman’s hands spread horizontally to display Susan as if she was a prize on The Price is Right.

“This is Ms. Waszyński, she will be your new teacher.”

The children cheered and Susan smiled. For the first time since leaving Toronto, she felt happy, truly happy for she knew what the future held.

“I want you to treat her respectfully. Do you think you can do that?”

The children nodded and said “Yes Misses Castor.” in unison.

She chuckled “okay then. You guys have a good day!” As she began to walk out of the classroom Susan stopped her.

“Wait, I brought a surprise for the class, maybe you want to stay a moment.”

Susan reached into her powder blue bag and pulled out Tupperware. She removed the lid to reveal a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. She offered one to Mrs. Castor who hesitated then took 3.

The woman devoured one without saying a word. Crumbs littered down her shirt and cleavage without her noticing. She winked at Susan and began to head for the door. “Wow, these are to die for! I must get the recipe.” Susan giggled. “I’ll write it down for you today.”

Mrs. Castor nodded and slipped out the door.

Susan looked back at the class and saw twenty-one young faces. Vibrant with life and ready to take on the world.

“Now, my mom always told me when meeting someone for the first time, it’s best to come prepared. I brought you all cookies. Do you guys like cookies?”

The whole class burst out in a resounding “YES!”

Susan giggled with the rest of the class.

“Okay, on the count of three, you can all come grab two cookies, but please grab a napkin too so we don’t make too much of a mess.”

Susan counted aloud and the class joined in.

“One….two….three!”

The kids got up at once and made a mad dash for the cookies. Little hands flooded the Tupperware as the cookies began to disappear one by one.

Susan watched as the container emptied with delight.

Each child sat back at their desk and devoured the cookies.

Susan looked up at the ceiling as if she was watching something that no one else saw and smiled.

Botgore: So why Lisa? 

דיבוק: What you mean? 

Botgore: What made her special? 

דיבוק: Who said she’s special? 

Botgore: So you’re saying there’s no reason to what you do? You just pick at random? 

דיבוק: Random? No. That would be cruel. 

Botgore: And you don’t think what you do is cruel? She was broken and you took advantage of her. 

דיבוק: Dr…Botgore? Yes? There’s a Yiddish saying:“Shuldik iz der stolyer: ven er volt nit gemakht di bet, volt ikh nit gekumen tsu keyn khet.” 

Botgore: “It’s the carpenter’s fault: if he hadn’t built the bed, I wouldn’t have sinned.” I’m familiar with it. 

דיבוק: So then you understand I’m only a tool in a much bigger box. 

Botgore: Then who’s the carpenter? 

דיבוק: How many famous carpenters do you know?